Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex

by Lesley Jepson

  ‘Bring me my winter cloak, Ghislaine. I would see our guests away safely on their journey and bid farewell to Gozfrid.’

  Ghislaine bobbed a pink-cheeked curtsey and hurried from the room, her running steps echoing as she set off to find the Queen’s cloak. Judith searched her mind to find something innocuous to say. All the ladies in the solar had their ears reaching for every word that was uttered, despite them feigning interest in their needlework or reading practice. The two musicians had given up completely and were staring wide-eyed at the large young man in their midst.

  ‘I hope you have a safe journey, Lord.’ Judith rolled her eyes inwardly at the inane comment, and saw Baldwin’s lips twitch before he made his response.

  ‘Thank you, Princess. The weather seems to be holding, so we might yet have a fair crossing.’

  Judith nodded wordlessly, at a loss for another remark.

  ‘Have you written to your mother, Princess? We can take any letters for you, should you wish.’ Baldwin’s voice was loud enough to carry over to the other side of the room, and Judith nodded with relief at the conversational life-line he had given her. She wished Ghislaine would hurry, so they could leave the solar and perhaps have a private word before he left her. Judith pushed down the threat of a sob as she thought about him leaving, perhaps forever.

  ‘I entrusted them to Adal, Lord. He assured me he would have them put in your satchel before you left, and I thank you for the courtesy.’

  The door banged open and Ghislaine hurried across with Judith’s fur-lined chamois cloak. Baldwin took it from the young girl and placed it gently around Judith’s shoulders.

  ‘Allow me, Princess.’

  She noticed his voice was lower, and his breath brushed her cheek as he swathed her in the fur folds. Judith smiled her thanks and fastened the silver clasp at her throat, then blinked in surprise as she gazed at Ghislaine, who was also enfolded, neck to heel, in a padded woollen cloak.

  ‘I shall accompany you, Highness,’ the young girl loudly pronounced with a grin, then lowered her voice to a whisper and slid her eyes towards Lady Emer, busily stitching on the other side of the solar, ‘for propriety’s sake.’

  Her voice rose and she looked up at Baldwin, blinking her wide blue eyes, ‘Is Gozfrid waiting with the horses, Lord?’ Baldwin twisted his mouth wryly and nodded.

  ‘Good,’ affirmed Ghislaine with a hoydenish wink, ‘I shall practice my French and bid him farewell in his own language.’

  Baldwin held out his hand to escort Judith from the room, closely followed by Ghislaine, who lifted the length of Judith’s train to keep it from sweeping the floor. Behind them as the door closed, Judith heard the whispers start, and she hoped her husband wouldn’t be displeased with what would no doubt be reported to him.

  But she put that out of her mind. Baldwin was holding her hand as they negotiated the stairs down to the courtyard, and although he hadn’t yet spoken again, just the fact that he was near her and touching her made her heart pound and her breath struggle in her chest. All too soon they were at the doorway to the courtyard, and Ghislaine laid her train down and hurried outside, with a whisper in Judith’s ear.

  ‘I’ll distract them as long as I can, Lady.’

  Judith watched Ghislaine saunter up to Gozfrid, who was checking the buckles on the saddle. ‘Bonn jurr, Gozfrid. Vooz allay….’ Judith ignored Ghislaine’s attempt at execrable French and smiled up at Baldwin with a sigh.

  He was standing in the entryway, with the light behind him, blocking any view from the courtyard into the stairwell. She could see the sun shining through the darkness of his hair making chestnut lights glimmer amongst the curls, and his eyes glittered in the gloom.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Baldwin.’ Her words were barely above a whisper, and he had to stoop slightly to hear them.

  ‘Princess, I regret I didn’t come fast enough. Had I been here earlier, I perhaps could have saved….’ She put her hand on his arm to stop his words, and he caught her fingers in his gloved hand.

  ‘Baldwin, you couldn’t have stopped the King from marrying me. No-one could. You must not berate yourself.’ She felt his hand press hers and then release it. Disappointment made her stomach drop, and then she was aware that he took her hand once more, and realised he had removed his glove. Feeling his warm hand on her skin made her heart flutter in her chest and she raised her eyes to meet his.

  ‘I wish you could have rescued me, Baldwin. Taken me home, back to my family and people who love me.’ She tried to blink the tears away, and suddenly her hand was pressed to his lips.

  ‘Princess, I love you. I want you to know that, before I have to leave you here. That I love you, and I will until the end of my life. Should you need me, you have only to summon me.’ He kissed the back of her knuckles, and then slowly turned her hand over to press a kiss into the palm, as he had done two years before when she left France. Breath shuddered from her lungs and she felt the beats of her heart pounding in her head as Baldwin pressed kisses into her palm, and then onto her wrist.

  She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, then a sudden burst of laughter from the courtyard behind Baldwin broke the spell and she met his gaze again.

  ‘There will be a letter waiting for you when you get home, Baldwin. One I sent before you arrived.’ Judith beamed at him, then blinked in surprise as Gozfrid appeared over his shoulder, clapping him loudly on the back.

  ‘Come on, Win. We need to get down the river for the ship. Farewell, Highness. I hope you stay safe.’ Gozfrid smiled at Judith and made a small bow, then flicked the back of his hand on Baldwin’s arm and tipped his head. Baldwin gazed at Judith solemnly.

  ‘I am yours, Princess. If you need me to stay, I shall.’

  Judith shook her head. As much as she would love Baldwin to stay with her, so she could rely on him and allow him to protect her from all who would harm her, she knew that to do so would risk his life. Her husband was the King, and could order Baldwin’s death at any time. He wasn’t the son of a King of Frankia, merely of a Count.

  But she was a Frankian Princess, and Ӕthelbald couldn’t truly hurt her without risking war with her father and her uncles. She would be safe enough.

  ‘No, Baldwin. You must return to Frankia. But I shall still write, if I can get the letters out without them being intercepted. And when you respond, send them to Ralf. He is my oath-man now, and he will protect me.’

  Judith took a step forward and lifted her hand to cradle Baldwin’s jaw. He immediately kissed the palm of that hand too, then pressed her hands together. Dipping his head in an abrupt bow, he turned on his heel and strode quickly to his horse, leaping in the saddle and turning it away without a backward glance. Gozfrid shrugged a grin at Ghislaine and swung himself into the saddle, following his friend quickly. Ghislaine trotted up to Judith, lashes sparkling with unshed tears.

  ‘Will they return, Highness?’ asked the girl, her mouth downturned with sadness, and Judith heaved a huge sigh, trying to push her own tears away. She couldn’t reappear in her solar with red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

  ‘We can hope so, Ghislaine. And send a few prayers too. We cannot know what God has planned for us, so they may well return.’ Judith began to climb wearily back up the stair, listening to Ghislaine’s muttered grumblings.

  ‘I wish God would consult me before he plans things though, Highness. I have an opinion on how I want my life to be, but sometimes I wonder if he even bothers with listening to our prayers.’

  Judith gave the little maid a sad smile before they reached the portal to the solar, and squeezed her hand with a gentle shake of her head.

  ‘God hears all our prayers, Ghislaine. It’s just sometimes, the answer is “no”.’

 
***

  Chapter 70

  The hoofs of Baldwin’s horse thundered on the ground as he galloped away, corresponding with the thundering in his mind. He concentrated on the rhythm of the horse, matching the animal’s movements with his own until he could allow himself to think clearly. Slightly behind him, he could hear the breath of Gozfrid’s mount, and he knew his friend was allowing him time to calm himself before he spoke.

  Baldwin slowed the pace; he didn’t want to exhaust the horses before they reached the quayside, despite the feeling that he could ride for hours and still not feel any better. He slowed to a walk and waited until Gozfrid caught up.

  ‘You want to stay.’ Gozfrid made it a statement, not a question, and Baldwin growled in the back of his throat.

  ‘I’d rather bring her home, Goz. I don’t want to stay in this damp, muddy grey land any longer than I need to. I want to see sunshine and green fields and apple trees in straight, regimented rows. And I want her by my side.’ Baldwin twisted his mouth ruefully and gave a shrug.

  ‘But she’s married, Win. And he’s the King of this grey land, as you call it. I don’t see what we can do.’

  ‘We wait,’ ground out Baldwin. ‘The King thinks himself invincible, simply because he is the king. Last night at the feast, he was telling me of his plans to keep his borders secure. I tell you, Goz, if he was to meet a real attack from the Danes, he’d melt like butter left in the sun too long.’ Baldwin rode in silence for a while, turning things over in his mind.

  ‘And I warned that mignon of his to persuade Ӕthelbald to keep his court in Sherborne as much as he could, so she could be free of him.’

  Gozfrid chuckled and shook his head, ‘And why would he do that, just because you say so, Win?’

  ‘Because I told him I would tell the church what he was, and let them kill him for it.’ Baldwin’s tone was terse.

  ‘And he believed you?’ Gozfrid laughed.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he? I told him the truth. If they hurt or frighten her in any way, I will write to the Archbishop myself. God’s blood, I’ll write to the Pope if I have to.’

  They curved their mounts around the broad track beneath their hoofs, and before them lay the river, a grey ribbon glinting in the watery winter sun. The ship was waiting for them, bobbing gently on the water and tethered by thick mooring ropes. Baldwin slid from his horse and unfastened the satchel from beneath the saddle, throwing it over his shoulder. Both men strode up the plank onto the boat, and Baldwin dropped silently onto the bench seat near the hull as the crew loaded the horses into their makeshift stalls on deck.

  Gozfrid regarded the implacable expression on his friend’s face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ he asked in a surprised tone. ‘You will wait for her.’

  ‘I can do no other, Goz. She owns my soul.’

  ***

  Chapter 71

  The dim, grey wolf-fingers of dawn crept through the narrow window, illuminating the figures on the mattress. Although the chamber was small, it was richly appointed, with vibrant wall hangings and opulent drapes around the bed. Well-crafted cabinets and cupboards, in contrast with much of the furniture in the palace which was at best functional, were arrayed along the walls. Flagons of wine and ale, along with bowls of sweet-scented apples adorned the surfaces, which shone with a lustrous patina.

  Ӕthelbald ran his hand over his lover’s body, revelling in the play of muscles and prickle of body hair beneath his palm. Despite being slender, Eanwulf had the defined musculature of an accomplished horseman, made even more powerful by his prowess with the sword.

  His broad shoulders and chest were solid muscle, narrowing across his taut abdomen to a firm belly and then hard, powerful thighs. Ӕthelbald loved sliding his hand across Eanwulf’s stomach, feeling the rough hair as a delicate contrast to the soft skin of his lover’s ribs, following the path of his fingers with his lips.

  Tearing himself away from the invitation plainly visible in Eanwulf’s eyes, Ӕthelbald sat up from the bed and swung his legs over the side.

  ‘I must go back to my own chamber before the servants are about.’ The King rubbed his face with his hands and stretched his arms wide. He felt movement behind him, and glanced to see Eanwulf laid on his stomach, his delightfully soft rump plainly visible. Ӕthelbald stretched out a hand to trace the curve of spine and buttock he could see, and then snatched his hand away with a rueful snort.

  ‘You tempt me, Eanwulf. But I must go. The servants might see me if I leave it much longer.’

  ‘It grieves me that we must hide, Lord. I shall be relieved when we move the court back to Sherborne.’ Eanwulf’s voice was truculent, and Ӕthelbald knew the tone presaged a show of sullen ill-temper. He felt the tension settle in his shoulders.

  ‘The Church condemns this,’ Ӕthelbald waved his hand at Eanwulf’s naked body as the young man stretched and again turned on his back, ‘and as the Pope’s representative, Archbishop Ceolnoth wouldn’t hesitate to punish us. Punish you.’ Ӕthelbald’s eyes travelled downwards, then looked quickly away. He must be strong.

  ‘So you pretend to be a husband to your wife.’ Eanwulf’s sulky tone sparked an unexpected wave of irritation in Ӕthelbald. He was the King, for God’s sake, and he had responsibilities to the realm that Eanwulf couldn’t possibly comprehend.

  ‘Yes, I pretend. You know it is a pretence.’ Ӕthelbald allowed his hand to ghost over his lover’s chest briefly, then he stood and began to get dressed, ignoring the outstretched arm inviting him to return to the comfort of the mattress.

  ‘And when will it become a reality, Lord? When will you decide you need an heir from your Frankian queen and forget about me?’ Eanwulf turned on his stomach once again and buried his head in the pillow, muffling his peevish words. Ӕthelbald clenched his jaw, trying to remember Eanwulf only spoke to him like this because he loved him, and took a deep breath before he replied.

  ‘Not yet, that is certain. She has years yet when she might bear me an heir. I shall not have to…have to……’ He stopped, swallowing hard and pushing down the angry, resentful feeling that always roiled in his stomach when he thought of his wife.

  ‘Swive her?’ supplied Eanwulf nastily. ‘You swive Emer Cuikishe easily enough. So why not your wife? She is both young and pretty, at least. Her skin is soft and her hair is long and….’

  ‘Exactly.’ Ӕthelbald sat on the edge of the bed, sliding his fingers through Eanwulf’s fair curls and across his muscular back. ‘She is a soft and pretty child. My tastes don’t run to children, Eanwulf. And Emer is a distraction away from you. The whole court knew I had bedded my father’s mistress,’ he shrugged, ‘so my friendship with you wasn’t under scrutiny.’ Ӕthelbald stood and picked up his leather jerkin, pulling it over his head and adjusting his linen shirt beneath.

  When he glanced up, he saw Eanwulf striding naked to the sideboard, then pouring two cups of wine and holding one out for him. The light from the window, no longer hazy with the dawn but golden as the sun rose, bathed him in its radiance. The young man’s fair hair glimmered like a halo around his face, and the planes of his youthful body glowed as if lit from within. Ӕthelbald ignored the tightness at his crotch as he sipped his wine.

  He was King, and if he wasn’t to be deposed and excommunicated by the Church for his forbidden tastes, he must be strong. He would agree to Eanwulf’s entreaties and move the court to Sherborne, and leave his wife behind at Winchester. She could listen to Ceolnoth’s sermons, and he would take Ealstan with him for ecclesiastical advice.

  ‘When shall I see you again, Lord?’ Eanwulf’s eyes glittered over the rim of his cup, and Ӕthelbald knew the thoughts passing through the young man’s mind; his nakedness made it obvious.

  ‘When you jo
in the court to break your fast, no doubt.’ Ӕthelbald deliberately misunderstood the question as he quaffed his wine and strode towards the door.

  ‘That wasn’t my meaning, Lord.’ Eanwulf’s voice was harsh and his eyes had grown hard.

  ‘I am aware of that,’ said Ӕthelbald shortly as he opened the door. Peering down the corridor, he made sure he was unobserved as he slipped out of Eanwulf’s chamber without another word, and along the gallery to his own suite. He didn’t want to give the young man an answer that he would be held to, with shows of temper and sulky words.

  He was the King. And he would be strong.

  ***

  Chapter 72

  Ghislaine gazed around the solar, bored with her sewing and yet not wanting to play her lyre or practise her French. Since the King had moved to Sherborne, the court seemed very quiet. He had taken many of the unmarried warriors with him, although the ones with families remained to guard the palace and practice their sword-craft. Occasionally the Archbishop would seek out the Queen, usually to pick fault with some aspect of her behaviour, and Ghislaine thought it very unfair that an old man like Ceolnoth should try and interfere with their lives as he did.

  Prince Ӕthelberht would often come and listen to them singing, or playing music, and Ghislaine wondered if there was someone among the Queen’s ladies who had taken his eye. She thanked God it wouldn’t be her; she wouldn’t want to be the wife of a prince, criticised for everything she did, and then for everything she didn’t do.

  She might like a husband who was a warrior, tall and golden and brave with strong arms and curls in his hair. Perhaps from a foreign land, where she could be a real lady and no-one would remember her as a little girl with a dirty face and a muddy gown. But she must practice her French, because if she did happen to marry someone from a foreign land, he would expect her to speak his language. So she must practice with Elin, and learn as much as she could.